


Six times Steve cooks for Billy (and one time Billy cooks for Steve)

by herethegay



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 5+1 Things, 6+1 actually, Adoption, Enemies to Lovers, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Proposals, Sort Of, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herethegay/pseuds/herethegay
Summary: A relationship over different windows of time. Steve never thought he'd have a life like this.P.S. Features less cooking than you'd think





	Six times Steve cooks for Billy (and one time Billy cooks for Steve)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harringrovecryptid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harringrovecryptid/gifts).



> *one hand breaks through piles of snow on the ground* I have appeared! But SO VERY VERY late, ’m sorry about that. :) 
> 
> @harringrovecryptid I toyed with so many ideas (because your Harringrove likes/dislikes are exactly the same as mine! :D) but finally this was the one that really made me sit down and write. Darling, this is really 7 drabbles stacked on top of each other, wearing a long coat, trying to get into the “fic” section, but it’s fluffy and sort-of enemies to lovers (and features surprisingly less cooking than the name suggests), and I hope you like it anyway! <3 Excuse the sad lack of smut, since I can’t write it to save my life. Also, this got away from me a bit! I planned it at around 1500 words but the bois wouldn’t stop with their ridiculous antics!
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Harringrove Holidays to you! <3 Thank you for being a patient angel!
> 
> Likewise, a huge shout-out to the mods of @harringroveholidayexchange, @celoica and @gothyringwald for being awesome and organizing this amazing fest! It gave me the opportunity to finally stop procrastinating and get back to writing fanfic again! :D

1.

There’s a nervous knot in Steve’s stomach that starts forming an hour before his new tutor, Billy Hargrove, of all people, is due to arrive- at six. He knew this was coming; he couldn’t keep skating by with ‘F’s all through senior year, after all. But did Ms. Doris have to assign him that douchebag, even if he was her star literature student? Well, he sighs, English teachers couldn’t be expected to understand high school rivalries, and Billy Hargrove was coming over, and that was that.

He switches on all the lights in the house, collects his English Lit books gathering dust in his cupboard and sits down to get started on some of his reading before Billy gets there. He doesn’t want to look like a total idiot.

\--

Billy arrives at Steve’s at six sharp (Steve knows because he kept glancing restlessly at his watch), cigarette between his teeth, dark denim jacket, and an English textbook clutched between his side and arm. He looks a comical cross between a metal band member and a tortured poet.

But before he can say anything, Billy beats him to it. “Look, Harrington, we both don’t want to be here. But I need the money and you need to pass, so let’s just do this quickly, alright?”

Steve nods, wanting nothing more, and leads Billy to the kitchen counter, where his poor attempts to study are underway. And, as it turns out, Steve does, in fact look like a total idiot. But Billy is surprisingly patient as he explains the plot of To Kill a Mockingbird. 

Their progress is slow, but steady, and before Steve realises, it’s eight thirty, and his stomach is growling. He catches Billy’s attention from where he’s scribbling some notes for Steve to go over later and asks “Hey, I’m going to make some Mac and Cheese for dinner. You want some?”

Billy looks around with a frown. “Where are your folks?”

“They’re, uh, out for the week.” Really, it’s the most unalarming way Steve can think of explaining that he’s basically been living alone for the past few years.

“Huh, and you’re getting English lessons instead of making this place party central? That doesn’t sound like ‘King Steve’ at all!” Billy taunts with a smirk.

“Shut up, asshole, and stop calling me that stupid name. And like you said, I need to pass.” Steve retorts, moving past Billy to get at the kitchen shelves. “Now, do you want food or not?”

Billy thinks back to Susan’s Eggplant Surprise that’s waiting at home and makes a face. “Yeah, sure.”

\--

Steve knows his way around the kitchen- something that doesn’t slip past Billy- and soon there are two steaming, cheese-laden plates in front of them. Steve busies himself with his food and tries not to look for Billy’s reaction.

Billy takes a bite of the pasta, surprised at how good it is. “You know, Harrington, you’re actually not as bad at cooking as you are at playing ball.”

Steve tamps down that strange proud feeling that bubbles up in his chest, along with slight irritation at the backhanded jibe. “And you’re not as terrible a tutor as you are a person. But I’ll keep your secret.” He retorts.

Billy just snorts, and they finish their food in not-quite-companionable silence. As Steve puts away the plates, Billy takes his leave by pushing some notes towards Steve. “Here, don’t fail, Princess. Terrible as you are, I’m not going to let that Anderson play on the first string.”

Steve flips him the bird as an answer, and Billy mirrors him while wagging his tongue, then disappears out the front door. Steve hears the rumble of the Camaro start up before it fades, leaving his house oddly quiet.

 

2\. 

The screech of the Camaro’s tires on the asphalt is a noise so sharp that it jolts Steve from his nightmares. He hastily throws off the sweaty covers and looks out the large glass windows form where he was sleeping on the couch.

A glance at the digital clock tells him it’s past midnight on Friday, and Steve worriedly wonders why Billy is here even as he hurries to open the front door. Billy’s been over to tutor him several times now, and though they’re not quite friends- Billy quick to taunts and anger, and Steve still guards too many secrets- they’re something close to it, now.

He gets to the door and swings it open before Billy can knock, and barely holds back a gasp at the sight of Billy’s face- his left eyebrow is split open, as is his lower lip, and a trail of blood runs across his cheek over what looks like a red handprint. Billy doesn’t seem to be affected, though. He grins, showing bloodied teeth, and dangles a little baggie in front of Steve. “Hey Harrington, wanna smoke up?”

And Steve knows that he should prod more into this, but figures it can wait until Billy has seen the inside of a first aid kit. Fighting the tightness in his chest that seems to hold his body at a standstill, he steps aside to let Billy in.

Billy walks into the living room to see Steve’s makeshift bed and turns towards Steve. “What’s with sleeping on the couch, Harrington?” 

“It’s too hot upstairs.” Steve replies too quickly. Billy stares at him for a long while; they both know Steve has an air conditioner in his room. Steve avoids the unimpressed reaction to his flimsy lie by going to fetch the first aid kit form the downstairs bathroom.

\--

“Sit still, will you,” Steve admonishes as Billy keeps trying to roll the joint while Steve is applying antiseptic to his cuts. 

“That’s enough, Harrington. I’m fine.” Billy bats his hand away in annoyance. “No, it’s not!” Steve says, a bit too forcefully. The red of Billy’s blood is too red, the black and blue of his bruises too close to the ones he and the kids had, trippingstumblingfalling through those tunnels. He wants them off of Billy’s face, with a vehemence that surprises even himself.

Again, Billy gives him that inscrutable gaze before sighing and allowing Steve to do as he pleases. When Steve is finally satisfied and puts the first aid kit away, Billy silently hands him a lit joint.

They sit on the floor, leaning against the couch, getting progressively lighter-headed until Billy asks “So, Harrington, wanna tell me why you were lying about sleeping on the couch?”

“Do you want to tell me why you showed up at my place after midnight, with the shit beat out of you?” Steve challenges, looking Billy right in the eyes.

They stare at each other for a long moment, stony-faced, before Steve sighs. “I have a lot of nightmares. Bad ones. I like to be closer to the front door, keeping the lights on too.”

“Why? They’re nightmares, not like they’re real, Harrington.”

Steve almost says they’re more real than Billy thinks, but catches himself. It’s too much, too soon. So he just shrugs and takes another drag.

Minutes pass in the heavy stillness, and Steve reaches across Billy to reach for the throw and accidentally jostles Billy’s shoulder. Billy hisses just a little bit, drawing Steve’s attention back to his battered face, and maybe more, judging by the reaction he received.

“Let me help you.” He whispers, desperately. Billy takes a long deep breath and is silent long enough that Steve thinks he won’t get anything from him.

“My father,” Billy croaks. “He’s not an easy-going guy when he’s angry.” It sounds like it physically pains him to get the words out. “He’s angry a lot.” He adds, almost as an afterthought.

Blood is rushing in Steve’s ears as he’s trying to fit in what he just learnt with everything else he knows about Billy Hargrove. All the times he played shirts instead of skins, random days of absence from school, the occasional limp he had when he did finally show up.

“Shit shit shit,” He chants. 

“Harrington, calm down. It’s not that big-”

“It absolutely is a big deal, Billy!” (And wow, is this really the first time when Steve calls him by his first name?) Steve shouts. “You- you need to go to Hopper, alright? This shit is not okay.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Billy retaliates, his voice rising too. “The social services in this country are shit. I don’t want to spend my years being passed from one foster home to another. I’m almost eighteen.” Billy’s voice has dropped to a whisper. “I finish high school in six months, I’m free to go home, then.”

And the sentence settles like lead in Steve’s gut. Of course, Billy’s home is in California. Where he’ll go. After school ends. In six months. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much.

Steve nods instead. What Billy is saying makes sense, as much as he hates it. “But, what about your Mum?”

Billy snorts, though it sounds more like he’s disguising a sob. “That’s enough sharing for one night, pretty boy.” (And here’s another thing. Sometimes Billy calls him ‘pretty boy’- not with scorn, like he used to say it on the court, but almost absent-minded, like he’s letting his tongue roam free. But right now, they’re both buzzed enough to ignore whatever implications the nickname may have.)

“I’ll tell you about my mother when you tell me about these nightmares and why you always seem to be home alone.” He looks at Steve meaningfully. A silent understanding passes between them.

Billy reaches out and squeezes Steve’s shoulder, just once. “Now, all that shitty weed has made me hungry. How about some nachos?” He grins unrepentantly. It’s an obvious way to change the subject, but Steve takes it. They have another six months to talk about the bad stuff. 

“Yeah, yeah. But don’t eat them all by yourself, asshole.” Steve grumbles as he gets up.

“With lots of cheese and salsa!” Billy only shouts back and rummages among the VCRs kept in shelf below the TV to look for a decent movie.

\--

The next morning finds them asleep on the carpet, in front of the TV that’s running static, crumbs all around, and the lingering smell of marijuana in the air. And if they’ve drifted a little more closer to each other than strictly necessary, in their sleep, then no one really needs to know.

 

3.

Steve’s a jittery mess, and his bed and floor are covered with discarded shirts. He likes them all fine but none of them really give off the I’m-going-on-a-date-with-my-ex-rival-who-used-to-be-an-asshole-but-isn’t-now-and-it’s-sort-of-serious-but-also-casual vibe. It’s almost four, and Billy is always on time and bitches about anyone being late, ever, so Steve has approximately three minutes to choose.

In the end, he settles for a dark Polo and a navy sweater, then grabs an extra sweater. He hears the Camaro outside, and all but flies down the stairs. When he gets to the car, Billy is casually leaning against it, lighting a cigarette. It’s the middle of winter, there’s snow on the ground, and Billy is wearing a red button-up that is, well, unbuttoned. And while Steve appreciates the view, there are goosebumps across his torso and it looks like he’s managing not to shiver only by sheer force of will.

Steve balls up the extra sweater and throws it at him. “Wear it, asshole.” Billy barely manages to catch it with an amused grin. “Green’s not really my color.”

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, well, I’m sure hypothermia wouldn’t suit you either.” He gets into the passenger’s seat, satisfied that despite his jibes, Billy did don the sweater. 

Their date was in a tiny diner two towns away, one that Billy remembered stopping at when he drove in from California. They couldn’t be too careful in a small town like Hawkins, after all.

The diner, as it turns out, is even shittier than Billy seemed to remember. But nobody knows them or even gives them a second glance, and it’s mostly empty, so in the corner booth, they can laugh and murmur soft endearments, and sometimes even brush their hands together when the waitress is on the other side of the restaurant. So it’s good.

That is, until the food arrives. “This pizza is shitty.” Billy grumbles. “You could make a better one at home, Harrington.”

And Steve grins like a maniac at that, at Billy unknowingly calling Steve’s place home. Though it might as well have been, with Billy spending all the time he could there, and Steve’s parents never being around.

“So, let’s do it.” Steve blurts.

“What?” Billy looks up, distracted from picking out the greasy tomatoes from his pizza.

“Let’s have a date at home. Who cares about going out anyway? I’ll make pizza.” Steve explains though his grin.

Billy is already grabbing at his jacket. “That’s not a bad idea, pretty boy. Let’s get out of here.”

\--

Steve unlocks the door and they spill inside the house, gratefully out of the cold and weighed down by bags of ingredients Steve claimed he needed to make the perfect pizza. It’s liberating, this realization that they don’t really need to be doing all of this in the normal- first date, dinner, second date, movie, third date, first kiss- order. After all, they aren’t the most normal couple, are they?

And so, they end up in the kitchen, Steve rolling the dough by hand and Billy helping by cutting up the toppings, and it’s so domestic Steve’s cheeks hurt from smiling. 

Steve has just popped the pizza in the oven, turning to tell Billy that it should be ready in fifteen minutes and could he set the table please, when Billy grabs him by the front of his sweater, closing his mouth over Steve’s own. 

This might be the best first date he’s ever had, Steve thinks, as he smiles, giddy, into the kiss.

\--

They nearly burn the pizza. It’s still the best first date.

 

4.

Steve wakes up to a cold bed and the sound of sniffling and coughing from the bathroom. “Billy?” he calls out, still in the arms of sleep.

Billy appears in the doorway of the bedroom of their shared apartment in California, wrapped in a blanket stolen from their bed and holding a bunch of tissues to his nose. “I dink I’b sick.” He proclaims.

Steve snorts, despite his mind immediately going into Mother Hen mode. “No shit, genius.” He says as he ushers a shivering Billy back to bed. It seems they’ll both skip classes today, and Steve makes a mental note to call in sick at Billy’s part time job at the record store as well.

“You don’ hab to bake a fuss, Steeb.” Billy protests as he’s buried under extra covers.

“Shut up, asshole. I told you not to eat a tub of ice cream in the winter.”

“Bax dared be, that liddle shit.” Even after three years, he’s still amazed at sibling rivalries and his childish boyfriend. Though, if Dustin dared him to, Steve probably would have done it too. But Billy doesn’t need to know that.

Steve leaves Billy with an ibuprofen, a jug of hot water by the bed, a box of tissues, and the promise to be home soon. Because they’ve just moved into this less-shitty apartment from their old one, and they can’t both afford to skip work while still attending college. To make up for it, though, Steve plans to make Billy’s favourite chicken noodle soup when he gets back.

“Bo kiss?” Billy asks petulantly as Steve is leaving. “Not if I want to get sick too.” Steve snarks, but presses an affectionate goodbye kiss to Billy’s sweaty forehead anyway.

\--

Steve is stirring the chicken broth in a pot, waiting exactly two minutes to add the noodles to it (it’s Billy’s Mom’s recipe, one she taught Steve when they went over to visit her the first time) when he feels Billy come up behind him.

“You’re getting you germs all over me.” Steve says through a smile when Billy wraps him up in his blanket cloak. In retaliation, Billy presses a smacking wet kiss to his cheek, and Steve squeals and pushes him away.

It’s only after Steve makes the (empty) threat of not giving him any soup that he behaves and sits obediently at the counter. And even though Billy whines and bitches until Steve feeds him spoonfuls of soup, Steve thinks there’s no other place he’d rather be.

 

5.

It’s Max and Lucas’s wedding, and they’re holding it in Hawkins itself, because after Neil left, Susan’s health deteriorated, and she’s too sick to travel elsewhere. They’ve deliberately planned it around Thanksgiving, so that everyone would be home for the holidays and be able to attend.

Which is how Billy and Steve find themselves in Hawkins, Indiana, after seven years. Billy is the one giving Max away at the wedding, after all, and neither of them would miss it for the world even if he wasn’t.

Though their visit also has a more personal purpose. Steve’s parents are actually in town for Thanksgiving after what seems like forever, and he’s been wanting to tell them about his relationship with Billy for some time now.

Reluctantly, they stay in separate homes; Billy stays over at Susan’s to help with the wedding preparations while Steve stays at his old house to get it in order before his parents arrive on the morning of Thanksgiving.

\--

Steve plans to make a family lunch, a rare and formal affair at the Harrington household. He’s frantically chopping up vegetables, stirring pots, roasting the turkey, directing his nervous energy into his cooking. Billy helps out where he can, occasionally telling Steve to calm down and breathe, despite his own apprehensiveness about the lunch. He’s never met the elder Harringtons after all.

He tells Steve that he hopes they’re like their son. Steve, somewhat sadly, confesses that he doesn’t really know what they’re really like either, and Billy’s heart aches, so he kisses Steve until he smiles again.

The front door unlocks, and they spring apart, feeling seventeen once again. “Steve, darling? Are you here?” Mrs. Harrington’s airy voice rings though the house before she herself walks into the kitchen, followed by Steve’s father.

“Mother!” Steve smiles. “Hello, I was just preparing lunch.” 

“How lovely,” His mother comments, polite and detached. Billy hates it. “And who’s this young man?” Mr. Harrington questions, his deep, no-nonsense voice is tinged with slight disapproval.

“This is Billy Hargrove,” Steve introduces, and Billy steps forward to shake Mr. Harrington’s hand. “He’s my, uh, partner.” Mr. Harrington drops Billy’s hand as if burned. Mrs. Harrington, on the other hand, seems none the wiser. “Oh, you brought a friend! How lovely.” She gives the same polite smile to Billy before excusing herself to the ‘Powder Room’.

Steve’s father waits a moment longer in the kitchen. “Make sure not to upset your Mother, Steve.” He warns, voice hard, before following his wife up the stairs.

In the kitchen, Billy holds Steve- who’s shaking gripping the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles have turned white- hoping to lend him some comfort.

\--

Lunch itself isn’t much better. Mr. Harrington carves the turkey with surgical precision and for a long time the only sounds are the delicate clinks of the silverware on the china, with Mrs. Harrington’s occasional comments about the food being so much better in Paris or New York or wherever.

Until Steve can’t take it anymore. He throws down his knife and fork; they make a loud clang against the expensive plate. Mrs. Harrington looks up, startled. “Steve, honey-”

“Don’t- don’t call me that!” Steve says, voice loud and ragged. “Do you guys seriously think this is how Thanksgiving- or, as a matter of fact, a family- works?” He grips Billy’s hand on the table fiercely, Billy squeezes back, as reassuring as he can be. Steve needs this.

“Steven.” His father warns.

“No! I’m not Steven! I’m Steve! And you would have known if you’d stuck around that I hated that name! And this is Billy,” He raises their joined hands from the table slightly, to show them. “He’s my boyfriend. We live together in an apartment in California. We’re in love!”

Mrs. Harrington lets out an Oscar-worthy gasp and Mr. Harrington slams a hand down on the table. It’s so dramatic Billy would laugh, if it weren’t for the fact that Steve is nearly crying beside him. 

“That’s enough, Steven,” Mr. Harrington says forcefully, as if his word could make everything return to his version of normal. “This- cavorting,” he regards Billy distastefully, “is not welcome in this house. If you insist on continuing this ridiculous farce, you shall not be called my son anymore!”

Steve gives a maniacal laugh and stands up suddenly, tugging Billy with him. “You know, I don’t think I ever was. You’re welcome your estates and business, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, I can’t seem to give a fuck.” And they storm out of the house together. It’s the most badass thing Billy’s ever been a part of, bar none.

On the front lawn, Steve collapses against Billy’s chest and heaves great, wracking, sobs. “They don’t care about anything, Billy! I don’t even know why I though doing this was a good idea-”

“Hey, hey, baby,” Billy hugs him and coos in his ear. “Fuck them, alright? You’ve got me, and I’ve got you, and that’s all the family I need.” He presses soft kisses to Steve’s hair until he stops crying and faces Billy again.

“It’s a shame you didn’t get to try my Chicken Parmesan, though” Steve jokes weakly, his face wet with drying tears. Billy hums. “Well, you’ll just have to make me Chicken Parmesan forever, then, won’t you? Because I’m never going to stop wanting it.”

“What?” Steve’s voice is confused for a moment before realization dawns on his face. “Oh my God, are you proposing to me right now?!” Billy just bites his grin and lets Steve join the dots. Until Steve breaks away and hits Billy in the shoulder, tears forgotten. “This is, like, the worst proposal, ever, dickhead! You didn’t even get me a ring-”

Billy gives up and starts full-on chortling, then. “High-maintenance princess,” he teases, but produces a small velvet box he’s been carrying around for two months, and goes down on a knee in front of a stunned Steve. “Steve Harrington, or just Steve now, I think? Will you marry me?”

And Steve is crying again and nodding so hard his head might fall off, and Billy’s putting the ring on his finger, and they’re kissing on the Harringtons’ front lawn, and from the living room windows the elder Harringtons look at their son- maybe for the first time ever- and it’s the best Steve has ever felt.

 

6.

The weekends are always languid at the Harrington-Hargrove household; they spend the morning lazing about in bed, enjoying their day off and each other’s bodies, before making a lazy brunch, and retiring to the couch to cuddle and watch movies for the rest of the day. Billy complains that they’re getting old, but pulls Steve even tighter against him if he attempts to leave.

This Saturday is no different, Steve is boiling eggs and unloading toasts onto their plates, while Billy gets out the orange juice and sifts through the mail. 

Bills, bills, some restaurant pamphlet, a birthday invitation to Mike and Jane’s daughter’s second birthday, another bill, and a letter from the adoption agency they’ve been in contact with. Billy takes the last one with nervous fingers- not alerting Steve, he doesn’t want to see the disappointment on his face if they’re rejected once again- eyes skimming the letter, waiting for the inevitable apology, but. Not this time.

He lets out a whoop of delight, spills his glass of juice but who the fuck cares, pulls Steve away from where he’s prodding at the eggs, and kisses him breathless. Steve kisses him back with enthusiasm, before pulling away with a bewildered grin. “Billy, what-”

And Billy shows him the letter. Steve’s eyes widen. “Baby-” he starts. “We’re going to have a baby.” Billy finishes for him. Steve smiles so wide his face hurts but he can’t seem to care. They stand there, crying, laughing, kissing, giggling, in the sunny kitchen for what feels like hours. When they finally break away, Steve tapes the approval letter to the fridge.

 

7.

“Careful now, you don’t want to spill Papa’s breakfast, do you?” Billy gently rights the jug of juice on the tray Caleb’s little hands are holding. He’d insisted on carrying the tray to Steve, much as he’d insisted on making a birthday breakfast. (“Papa need to be special ALL day, Daddy, it’s a birthday!” He’d impatiently explained to Billy.)

Billy gently herds their son into the bedroom, opening the door and holding the tray while Caleb climbs up on the bed, getting a knee square in the middle of Steve’s stomach. Steve jolts awake with a groan.

“What even-” He begins as he feels around the nightstand for his glasses that he now needs. 

“Happy Birthday, Papa!” Caleb tackles him with a hug before he can find them. Even through his sleep-addled confusion, Steve grabs his little body and steadies him. “Daddy and I made you breakfast!” Caleb chirps, pulling away.

It is then that Steve notices Billy, standing by the bed and looking at both of them with a besotted look on his face. Steve’s smile rivals the Sun. “Is that so? Well, we should all share this yummy breakfast, then!” He sets Caleb down beside him and gestures for Billy to sit with them.

“There’s pancakes and berries and juice and toast and-” Caleb announces each item with enthusiasm as Steve beholds his birthday breakfast. “-oh! And I made a card too! I’ll get it from my room!” He runs off to get the card that Steve already knows will earn a place of honor on the fridge, right next to the adoption approval letter.

Steve turns to Billy, who’s set the tray down on his lap, and catches him in a slow, deep kiss. “Happy Birthday.” Billy murmurs. “Happy Birthday to me, indeed.” Steve smiles against his lips for a moment before pulling away.

“So, what did Caleb make?” Steve asks, popping a grape into his mouth. “A mess of the kitchen.” Billy laughs and steals a blueberry. Usually Steve would be more attentive about messes but right now he can’t be bothered. 

Caleb returns with his card, adorned on the front with glitter and a stick-figure family. Steve oohs and aahs at all the little doodles and smothers Caleb with loving kisses until he squirms away to get at the pancakes.

Steve laughs and presses one last kiss to his little blond head. Thirty one years of life, fourteen years with Billy Hargrove, and five with Caleb, and counting.

It’s a good life.

**Author's Note:**

> And that’s all! Please suspend your disbelief for gay marriage and adoption in the 1980s/90s, or imagine a more modern era I guess?
> 
> Self-betaed, all mistakes are mine! Let me know if you find any and I’ll fix them up! :)
> 
> I hope it isn’t too abrupt or the timeline too wonky, I tried to catch glimpses of their lives through different time windows! Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
